wings and things, they’re all she sees.
a twist, a snap, a bow, a breath.
in her dress
she drowns (and)
the boy, he sees
with ruby eyes and cloud bruised lips.
she spins on (her) toes,
the night licks her skin
and twirls her dress.
she breathes ghost breathes and (her)
butterfly eyes watch red ones sightlessly.
her dress fills like the ocean,
smothering them in a tide of dark light.
their skin sifts together,
all silver, all bronze, all milk, all rum.
(and) the dress smother(ed/s) on.